


The Wand Whisperer

by Darkravenwrote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Shy Draco Malfoy, Wand maker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: Harry Potter owns a wand modification shop in Diagon Alley. Draco Malfoy turning up one December afternoon is unexpected to say the least.





	The Wand Whisperer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cubedcoffeecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cubedcoffeecake/gifts).



> Happy holidays to you! I tried do something from your wishlist. Obviously nothing in this is meant to be offensive and I hope i didn’t slip up anywhere. I hope everything is as sensitive as it should be. I also really liked your liking the cold thing. I can relate to that. And I’m also in love with wand lore stuff. So here’s the fic. Hope you like it. 
> 
> Written for HDOwlPost 2018 for cubedcoffeecake

"This wand needs modifying," says a stern voice above Harry.

Harry promptly smashes his knee up against his desk and loses an hour's worth of work braiding unicorn hair. He tries not to scowl too obviously as he turns his attention to his new customer.

"Of course, sir," he replies automatically, keeping his expression even more carefully neutral when he meets the cold stare of Draco Malfoy, of all people. "May I ask what type of modifications you're looking for?" He keeps his gaze straight ahead, not letting his eyes stray to the sign at the front of the shop that explains as patiently as only wood and paint can that 'modify' is an extremely broad term and can mean any number of things. The shop caters to most of them, but still.

Malfoy looks very much as if he'd like to tell Harry to mind his own damn business, but that won't really work for what he's asking. Harry recognises that sometimes his work can be very personal, hard to talk about even. He waits patiently.

"My son. Since his mother left..." Harry senses the faulter here and hears the unheard 'me' but he nods encouragingly and hopes it doesn't come off as patronising. "He's been having trouble with consistent flow."

"He's never had this problem before?" Harry asks, careful to keep any emotion from his voice. He's found a lot of people prefer someone personable and easy to talk to, but he doesn't think that will work for Malfoy. Many purebloods are so focused on their pride and getting out of his shop as soon as humanly possible, they forget they're there for a real person who needs Harry's help.

"No." Malfoy sounds brisk and sure, but no ashamed or embarrassed -- more like he'd rather be talking to anyone but Harry, but the topic is fine. That is a good sign at least. Harry's least favourite people are those who come in with their children who need help before heading to Hogwarts and are so blisteringly ashamed of what's 'wrong' with their child their first question is how much extra it will cost to hide the modifications.

It sounds like the trauma has affected his magic. Harry's no psychologist but he does know there's no way to tell whether it will be permanent or not.

"May I see the wand?"

Malfoy promptly places a smooth six and a half inch wand on Harry's countertop. It's a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Strong but supple oak with a dragon heartstring core. Good for delicate work like charms and transfigurations. Oak is one of the more temperamental woods though, which might explain why it's reacting to the change in Scorpius Malfoy's mental or emotional state. A regulating aid around the core, like a smatter of yew ash or perhaps a coil of Hippogriff tail hair, should do the trick. But Harry isn't sure either of those things are in his stores. He tells Malfoy as much.

"I'll wait," Malfoys says tonelessly, before turning on his heel and walking out of his shop. Harry glances from the wand still on his counter to the little alcove complete with two armchairs and a tea set.

It turns out Harry is correct. When he steps out of his shop to tell Malfoy as such, he wishes he'd thought to grab his coat. There is literal snow swirling in the air and Malfoy is perched on the bench outside his window like it's a mild summer afternoon.

"I need to get the supplies for your order," Harry says through chattering teeth. "I'll have everything I need by the end of the week."

Malfoy nods jerkily at him and stands. "I'll return on Friday then." He whisks the wand from Harry's open palm and is gone before Harry can thank him for his custom with another swirl of fogged breath.

Harry quickly retreats back into the warmth of his shop, setting the tea set to action with a flick of his fingers as he passes. He's going to need it. And some owl biscuits. Archimedes is going to hate him for sending him out in this weather.

 

True to his word, Malfoy shows up at four on the dot Friday afternoon. It's just getting dark, casting shadows across Harry's little shop and magnificent rays of red over his desk. Harry likes this time of year, as long as he has ten layers on.

"Do you have everything yet?" Malfoy asks with the same briskness as last time.

This time, Harry is prepared though. He sets a tea cup on the counter -- how Malfoy likes it if his taste hasn't changed since Hogwarts. "The last item came this morning. May I see the wand again." It appears so quickly in his outstretched hand, Harry thinks Malfoy can't stand to touch him. "Lovely. It'll take about an hour. Although you should understand this is just the first solution. If your son isn't happy with the results, there are several other things I can try. Of course, you'll only be charged for the successful result."

Malfoy may very well not have heard a single word of this; he's too busy staring down at the cup of tea like it might come alive and eat him. He pushes it back towards Harry with a single finger. "I'll wait outside."

"I have a-" Harry managed before the bell over his door signals Malfoy's departure. "-waiting area. Huh."

The procedure is simple. A little simpering and complimenting and the wand is putty in his hand. Barely fifty minutes later he approaches Malfoy outside his shop. His good mood vanishes slightly with the cold. It makes him feel like a layer of skin on his cheeks is peeling off.

"I've incorporated a thin layer of yew ash around the heartstring core. It should cushion the process and soften any inconsistencies in the magic relay."

Malfoy takes the wand consideringly. "I hope you're worth the money, Potter. You came highly recommended." It sounds like it hurts him to say aloud to Harry. "You'll be in touch about payment?"

"It's no worries. Pop back in when you know how well it's worked. I trust you." Within reason, he doesn't say.

"That's a terrible business practice." Surprisingly, that's the first judgemental thing Malfoy has said to him during this entire process. Harry very much wants to take advantage of the moment to ask why he likes to sit out in the cold, but Malfoy is already halfway down the street when he thinks of it.

Then Harry realises he can't feel his fingers anymore and hurries back inside.

 

Another week passes before Malfoy once again comes into Harry's shop. The transaction of payment feels disappointingly finalistic and devoid of emotion. Somehow, having Malfoy around was rather exciting. Harry thinks he'll miss it.

He's turning back to his dreaded accounting book when Malfoy stops at the door. The bell jangles irritatedly.

"You don't like the cold."

Harry glances around his shop, wrong-footed and lost. "Errrr, I don't mind it. When I've got the right attire."

Malfoy nods consideringly. His gaze darts to Harry's hair, like it's the deciding factor in some important decision.

"Why do  _ you _ like the cold so much?" Harry asks when it doesn't seem like Malfoy knows what to say. "I have perfectly good armchairs you could have sat on."

Perhaps he accidentally says it with a pout or the pitch of his voice sounds like sulking, but Malfoy shuts the shop door again and steps back into the warmth. "You think I'm avoiding you?"

Now he's said it, Harry guesses that is accurate even though he hadn't realised it. He shrugs.

"I really do just like the cold. No bugs. No bug bites." His upper lip curls. "It might not be entirely inaccurate to say that I've also, well, you know." His eyes lower demurely and a light flush scatters across his pale cheeks.

"Oh my God," Harry accidentally breathes aloud. Malfoy is shy. He's been avoiding Harry because he's shy about something.

"There's a light show in East London I've been meaning to go and see," Malfoy says, apropos of nothing.

"Riiiight," Harry says slowly, thoroughly confused.

The way Malfoy scuffs his foot reminds Harry of an ignored toddler. "Would you like to go? With me?"

Harry has a moment of clarity then. His mind catches up with the conversation they are having. This is a date. Malfoy is asking him on a date. Very awkwardly, but still.

"I'm free next Wednesday after closing."

The red on Malfoy's cheeks practically burns. Instead of addressing their date, though, he says briskly, "Scorpius loves the wand. Says it's perfect. Your reputation is well earned." At the door, he pauses again, ignoring Harry's poor bell. "I'll pick you up at six." Then he is gone.

Harry suspects two things about his future. Firstly, Ron may well go through his whole facial repertoire when Harry tells him. Secondly, Harry may get whiplash trying to keep up with Malfoy's conversation.


End file.
